How Civil
by Rasputin Zero
Summary: The Tallest come to blows and civil war erupts, but neither of them seems terribly competent at it.


How Civil  
  
Part One: I was only teasing!  
  
The crowd roared. Their faces contorted into permanent fixtures of ecstatic glee. Overjoyed beyond all reasonable measures of pleasure. Their cries filled the chamber and deafened anyone who didn't join in with the chorus from the first cheer, and there were those who did, their bodies were being carted away behind the scenes. Some were screaming out their vocal chords, others had yellowish-green blood streaming out of their ears. And all they did was enter the room.  
  
"THE ALMIGHTY TALLEST ROCK!!!" There always had to be one...  
  
"Yes! Cheer you must, for your all-powerful leaders have returned!" Red had the crowd in his hand. If there was anything Red was good at, it was public appearances. The floating platform they were travelling in on was ringed with circling laser beams and orbiting light pulses, while more lasers were being emitted as they descended from the ceiling above the crowd. It was things like this that inspired devotion in a race, the appearances, the impression of omni-potence. They could never just "walk in". Though it would've been a damn sight cheaper.  
  
"We return with fresh conquests for you to drool your pathetic, inferior drooling over!" Purple, however, was used to speaking his mind. Despite common acceptance their names were not actually "Red" and "Purple". They had their own, individual names before they became Tallest, but when an Irken is called upon to be leader, they lose all their previous attachments to the lower ranks and become simply, "the Tallest". Usually this doesn't cause a problem, but that was before a weird genetic fluke produced two seperate Tallests of EXACTLY the same height. So an unspoken agreement was reached where one was "the red one" and one was "the purple one". It certainly saved on paperwork.  
  
"We may have been away from Irk for a while, but for good reason! For we have surged ahead in our latest attempt at galactic conquest, Operation IMPENDING DOOM 2!" Red yelled at the crowd, "Our glorious efforts have resulted in the Irken Empire being upgraded from fourth to third place in the galactic space empire index! The new avenues open to the Irken Empire make this a better time than ever to be an Irken!"  
  
"But this is only the beginning!" shouted Purple, getting his minimum second half of the conversation, "Soon the seeds of our conquests will bear fruit, and the Irken race will benefit from our gargantuan resources! Starting with a brand new 5-million capacity Burger bar in Imperial Square!" Every pause was punctuated with applause, it couldn't have been better planned if they had fired five different organisors instead of four.  
  
"However, there is still a universe to conquer, and Operation Impending Doom 2 is not over yet!" announced Red, "For more info, here's our statistics advisor, General Vurk." The crowd roared yet again, but it was more muted than before, an ear-splitting cheer of politeness rather than genuine joy. And for good reason. For appearing before the Tallest was a short, bureaucratic figure with spectacles and a nasal voice that made a mockery of the title 'general'.  
  
"Th...th...thank you, my Tallest. AHEM! Current conquests under Operation #1467d 'Impending Doom 2', as of 0900, 37th Vletober, 26448YT," announced Vurk, "First conquest: Planet Blorch, taken after 189 days, 4 hours, 23 minutes and 17 seconds. Invader: Skoodge. Contribution to Irken interior infrastructure: converted into parking structure planet and renamed IEP#427 'Multilevela'."  
  
Honest to god, it was perhaps the dullest thing you have ever seen. It takes exceptional effort to take as hyper a crowd as that which greeted the tallest and suck all energy out of it in the space of half a minute, but Red had managed to find such a man, specifically for a PR stunt that he wanted to surprise everyone with.  
  
"Second conque...ARRRGGHH!!" General Vurk's EXCITING speech was brutally cut short by Red pulling out his ceremonial pistol and firing it at Vurk's back, splintering his squeedily-spooch into four, easily portable chunks. Vurt uttered a pathetic 'owww' before keeling over, and Red put away his pistol and stretched his arms into the air.  
  
"Wasn't he a dunce! Huh!?" yelled Red. The crowd roared with renewed vigour, pulverising the eardrums of a few more hapless victims, grateful to the Tallest for ridding Irk of that dull, dull man. Who incidentally left behind a wife and two kids, one of which was suffering from a rare blood disease, but who cared about them anyway? Apparently Purple did, as he was staring, aghast, at Red's little stunt.  
  
"You purposefully employed the dullest person you could find to kill him? Live!? In front of half the planet!? For ratings!?" asked Purple.  
  
"Well, yeah," answered Red, perplexed at his partner's concern, "I told you about it last night..."  
  
"No you didn't!"  
  
"Yes I did! I told you during that board meeting!"  
  
"I was watching 'Irk's Dumbest Spacecraft Jackers'!"  
  
"Y'know, that's just typical of you," said Red, approaching a nerve, "always lazing about, never putting any consideration about the serious matters of state. All you do is sit around and eat snacks all the time!"  
  
"So do you."  
  
"BUT NOT WHEN THERE'S BUSINESS TO BE DONE!"  
  
"And what 'business' is that?" queried Purple, "all you're concerned with is 'appearances'! Your entire rule is centred around getting as many people as possible to like you, no matter what I want to do! I CAN'T WORK LIKE THIS ANY LONGER!"  
  
"Y'know what this means..." said Red.  
  
"CIVIL WAR!" answered Purple.  
  
"YEAH! No wait...that isn't what this means..." pleaded Red, but it was too late, the crowd were already chanting 'civil war! civil war!' over and over again. This day out had become even more interesting since General Vurt got shot, and they didn't want any backing down.  
  
"PREPARE TO BE OVERTHROWN, YOU PRETENDER!" Purple shouted at Red, despite being right next to him. The crowd was already dividing into Red- and Purple-supporting sides. The body carts had started receiving their first lynchings. Red wanted to quieten things down before they got out of hand.  
  
"Listen, can't we just have a shouting match for the next half an hour then call a draw?" asked Red, hopefully.  
  
"Awww! But civil wars are fun! Their nice and...civilly." answered Purple.  
  
"Alright! That does it! GET OFF MY PLANET YOU MORON!" yet more yelling from Red.  
  
"Very well! But notice that I'm leaving with HALF THE FLEET!" Purple retorted, before raising into his personal shuttle, positioned handily above the stage on an elevated platform next to the Tallest's elevators.  
  
"DEFENCE PLATFORMS! DESTROY THAT SHIP!" Red ordered as Purple's ship began to make it's way towards the Massive. Other ships, imbued with a newfound suicidal spirit, closed in on Purple's ship and took the laser blasts and missile shots meant for Purple's head. Purple's shuttle finally managed to reach higher orbit, where the Massive and a substantial chunk of the fleet began firing on Purple's pursuers to cover his boarding. Half the armada sped away with the Massive when they ordered the retreat as soon as Purple was aboard.  
  
Down on Irk, the crowd had descended into an orgy of lynching, and Red could only shake his head in despair.  
  
Part Two: Vive La Resistance!  
  
The Irken Civil War was a brutal, bloody affair, that split families and shattered society straight down the middle. Brother waged battle on brother, father fought against son, and nephews became even more estranged from their uncles than they previously were. Planets were reduced to rubble, whole populations were decimated, and the IRKSE 500 Index fell over a thousand points on the stock exchange.  
  
However, as far as civil wars went, this one took civility to the point of lunacy. Fighting was only to take place between 9:00 and 5:30 on weekdays and all battles were required by law to have a half-hour break in the middle for jaffa cakes and squash. All space empires were required to follow these rules after the example of the Terhurgs. They were the most ruthless and organised empire in galactic history, until a dispute between their leaders over who would have to clean the toilets led to their near extinction. They're still around, and are currently working in frontier sweatshops making shoes and being picked on for being so dumb.  
  
But still, such rules did still make a mockery of modern war. During the civil war, typical dinner conversation tended to follow this pattern: Mother-being: "Blangey? Where's your brother today?" Daughter-being: "Oh, I disembowelled him with my own teeth and spliced his insides into a wood-chipping machine because he supported Red instead of Purple." Mother-being: "That's nice dear. Could you pass the gravy?"  
  
Some people did notice that such a state of affairs could be taken advantage of. Among these were the denizens of Expressdelivera, the postal package planet, who were known nominally as "The Screwheads". This wasn't always their name, and their planet was not always known as Expressdelivera, but they had been enslaved by the Irkens for so long that they had practically lost all sense of identity...until now.  
  
"The Irken Empire is tearing itself apart!" yelled Glondark at the surrounding crowd, "we have a once in a lifetime oppurtunity to rid ourselves of Irken oppression! If we band together, we can defeat the Irkens and bring the downfall of their rule, and bring freedom to the galaxy!" The ragged band of fellow screwheads, meeting en masse on a part of the planet deserted of guards currently busy killing each other on the frontline, cheered in response, agreeing unilaterally with whatever Glondark said. The area they were meeting in was packed with different mechanisms for parcelling and distribution that covered the entire planet, which can grow to be fairly claustrophobic.  
  
"But who should lead our struggle for independence!?" shouted one screwhead.  
  
"Glondark shall!" bellowed another in response.  
  
"YES, GLONDARK! BE OUR SUPREME DICTATOR TO LEAD US TO GLORY!" shouted the crowd in perfect unison. Glondark himself was waving his arms, trying to calm the crowd down. Glondark was, on appearance, no different from the rest of the screwheads, but he was the one with the vision, and all others followed blindly, no matter how much he REALLY didn't want them to.  
  
"Now hang on! Supreme dictator!?" questioned Glondark, "we should bring an end to all dictators! Make our world safe for peace and democracy and...all that!" Glondark replied with an element of sheepishness.  
  
"Who should declare this democracy!?" asked one crowd-member.  
  
"Glondark shall!" answered another.  
  
"YES, GLONDARK! BE OUR DEMOCRATICALLY-ELECTED SUPREME DICTATOR TO LEAD US TO GLORY!" bellowed the crowd once again. Glondark was starting to break down from exasperation.  
  
"Look! It's perfectly simple!" he yelled, "if you follow me with blind obediance, then I become just another dictator! You should make your own choices!"  
  
"YES! WE MUST MAKE OUR OWN CHOICES!" the crowd bleated.  
  
"Irkens never allow us to make our own choices!" Glondark reasoned "So we should be able to rise up TOGETHER, and seize our right to make choices!"  
  
"YES! SEIZE OUR RIGHT TO MAKE OUR OWN CHOICES!" the crowd responded. Glondark thought for a moment that he was getting through to these people.  
  
"So what do you choose!?" he queried the crowd.  
  
"WE CHOOSE TO DO WHAT YOU TELL US TO DO, GLORIOUS LEADER!" the crowd answered, completely missing the point.  
  
"NO! Not that!" Glondark argued, "Look..." Glondark, trying a slightly different tack, decided to choose someone at random from the throng. He pointed at a girl "you!"  
  
"Me?" asked the girl, in complete and unexpected awe. She was already getting angry glances from surrounding screwheads.  
  
"Yes, you! What's your name?" Glondark asked the girl.  
  
"Tyria," the girl answered.  
  
"Tyria, what do you want to do?"  
  
"To follow you, oh glorious one..."  
  
"NO! What do YOU want to do? If there were no Irkens or rules? For a moment pretend, just PRETEND, that I'm not here."  
  
"Well...I've always wanted to..." Tyria paused, slightly embarassed, "...I've always wanted...to do the theatre."  
  
"That's good! What would you like to do in the theatre?"  
  
"Anything really, acting, writing, directing, so long as I was doing something...I don't know...creative."  
  
"And would you like the RIGHT to do that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"YES!"  
  
"But I'd give it all up to follow you, oh great one."  
  
"NO!" shouted Glondark, on the verge of tears that someone with so many dreams can turn out to be so dumb, "right. Let's try this ONE MORE TIME! Do you want independence?"  
  
"YES!" the crowd yelled.  
  
"Do you want freedom?"  
  
"YES!"  
  
"Do you want the right to do whatever you want, whenever you want!?"  
  
"YES!"  
  
"THEN WHY DO YOU WANT TO MAKE ME DICTATOR!?"  
  
"BECAUSE YOU'RE SMARTER THAN US!"  
  
Glondark could do nothing but bury his face in his hands. He briefly questioned these people's right to self-determination inside his mind, then concluded that these people would figure it out at some point. They'd have to. He'd kill himself otherwise.  
  
Part Three: Demancipation Proclamation  
  
Red was busy sipping a can of soda. Special Irken soda, mind. Not that it has much to differentiate it from the umpteen million other varieties of soda in the galaxy, or for that matter from the umpteen billion varieties of soft drinks. They are all fattening and strangely fizzy, one of those weird coincidences that makes you think that maybe there was a divine creator, until you realise that it can't have been very divine to blind itself to pain, malice, misery and death but pay SPECIAL ATTENTION to whether all planets in the universe have their own variety of soda. I think we can safely put this one to chance.  
  
But I digress, as Red is busy sipping a can of soda while mulling over a mock-up of the front-line. Progress in the war had stagnated after the first two weeks, not that the front-line had stalemated, on the contrary it was in a state of constant movement, just never in the same direction. Both of the Tallests had dedicated countless hours to thinking how to break to deadlock, but height obviously doesn't translate to strategic prowess.  
  
"But I'm telling you, my Tallest, bombarding the front line with skittles will NOT result in our enemies collapsing before our feet as they bend down to pick them up!"  
  
"Are you questioning my ability to command my own army?"  
  
"No sir! I'm just saying that this idea is a bit...well...dumb."  
  
Red was arguing with his strategic advisor, who will likely soon find herself out of a job if she continues to speak common sense. Red may have been the master of public relations, but when committing himself to battle with a capable enemy...he sucked.  
  
"Besides, this stalemate can't last TOO long," surmised Red, "soon the opposing forces will realise they are defending a pretender and lay down their arms to support ME as the true tallest!"  
  
"With all due respect, sir, the 'pretender' is probably thinking the same thing," the advisor theorised, "and it doesn't seem likely that they're just gonna 'decide' that overnight." Red looked like he was about to take offense, but just shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"Heh, fair enough," Red concluded, "so what do you propose, Advisor Klak?" Klak's face immediately lit up when faced with strategic possibilities.  
  
"We could win the war tomorrow if we can attack their central lines at 10:00 in the evening..." Klak began.  
  
"Whoah! Hang on! 10:00 at night?" Red stopped Klak at this important juncture, "but 'Pals' is on at 10:00 at night!"  
  
"I know," Klak continued, "while they're distracted, we can undermine their front line and begin our general offensive!"  
  
"You dare to propose beginning a general offensive while 'Pals' is on?" Red asked, "TAKE HER AWAY AND THROW HER OUT AN AIRLOCK!" Klak's look of gleeful malice gave way to regular malice as she was dragged away by the guards. She only managed to say 'I'd just like to tell you that you su-' before being flushed out into space, struggling to breathe until she had no more breath to struggle with, joining a long line of other failed strategic advisors that orbited around the station above Irk. It wasn't like the Massive where you could just move away from their lifeless bodies. Here, every indication of what was in store for them lay in front of potential advisors, leaving Red with a very short back catalogue to work from.  
  
Red was about to call it a night when a ringing from the monitor indicated an incoming message. Red turned and was immediately stunned to find Purple staring at him. For Red, fear was quickly replaced by mere annoyance.  
  
"What are you doing here, you failure?" asked Red impatiently, "unless you're giving yourself up to an execution squad, then I don't want to hear it!"  
  
"You have to listen to me!" answered Purple with urgency in his voice,"the screwheads are revolting!"  
  
"I know, that's why we conquered them," all that was needed was a ring of cymbals to complete the effect that this joke was SHIT!  
  
"Har-de-fucking-har! Look, the screwheads are beginning a rebellion, and it's spreading beyond their sector to worlds in Sector 17."  
  
"And what does that have to do with me?"  
  
"YOU OWN SECTOR 17 YOU IDIOT!"  
  
"I do?" Red checked the map behind him, "oh yeah, so I do. And why are you so interested in it?"  
  
"This rebellion is bad business for both of us. It's already spread across the frontline, and I won't be able to stop it since all my troops are out trying to kill you! And you will have exactly the same problem."  
  
"Look, I don't know why you're showing such concern. I'll deal with the rebellion on my end through my own means," Red said with judicious amounts of foreboding.  
  
"Meaning what?" Purple asked, a sinking feeling developing in his chest, which is hard to notice several hundred lightyears away.  
  
"Meaning I'll be signing an emancipation proclamation, promising freedom to the screwheads if they support me."  
  
"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"  
  
"Oh yes, I can! Don't try to bluff your way out of this one, you started this war, and I'm not going to cease it just because you're getting all jittery."  
  
"No, really, you CAN'T do that. If you do that, you'll give other races ideas and soon EVERYONE will be rebelling against us. And you're not seriously suggesting you give screwheads their independence are you? They handle our entire postal service!"  
  
"Well I'm not going to back down. Surrender or I'll do it."  
  
"Do what? Kill yourself? Trust me, you'll create a bigger problem than you started with."  
  
Red needed a moment to figure out what needed to be done. The rebellion was spreading, and with the civil war soaking up all resources, was likely to lead to the downfall of their whole society. Trying to manage the rebellion was only going to lead to greater strife, and trying to manipulate it would have the same effect as doing nothing. Neither one of them was going to surrender the title of Tallest, but that title would be meaningless when lined up against the wall with other Irkens. So, with heavy heart, Red made his choice.  
  
Epilogue: In place of strife...  
  
Glondark could barely believe his eyes. The screwheads who had just a moment ago been lynching their opressors were busy cheering and scrounging and fighting each other over...candy bars. Just a few moments ago the Massive had appeared in the skies over Expessdelivera and announced over a giant tannoy that the Tallest would be giving a message to them. TV screens rained down from the heavens and embedded themselves in the ground, walls, and some people, which then activated, showing the two Tallest standing together.  
  
"Greetings, loyal screwheads," Red had announced, "the period during which Irken Empire has been embroiled in conflict and struggle has finally ended. Hope you had fun! But we have noticed your people's struggle for independence and wish to show that your attempts have not gone unnoticed." Glondark had sniggered at their pitiful attempts at compromise, though he was worried that the Tallest had made peace.  
  
"SO WE BROUGHT CANDY BARS FOR EVERYONE!" Purple had shouted, giving a signal for the fleet to bombard the gathering of screwheads with sweets and other goodies. To Glondark's amazement, everyone dropped their weapons and clambered for their prizes. Had all his attempts to bring them independence come to nothing? "So long as you kill your leader," Purple had added as an afterthought. The screwheads stopped and looked at Glondark with murderous intent in their eyes.  
  
Thoughts of revolution and reconstruction were immediately overwhelmed by an intense urge for self-preservation. He ran as fast as he could. Expressdelivera was a maze of conveyor belts and packages that he could easily hide in. He stopped in a deserted passageway to catch his breath, but it was not deserted for long as there approached a girl along the other end of the passage.  
  
"Tyria!" cried Glondark, "We've got to get out of here! The others have become a bunch of candy-starved zombies! We have to..." Glondark stopped as he noticed that Tyria was pointing a gun towards him, a desperate look across her face as she clutched her chocolate bars close to her chest as if they were more precious to her than anything in the world.  
  
"I...can't...go on like this," she said disjointedly, "this rebellion...they're too strong...I can't fight them any longer. All I want is for this to be over." The girl had grown up too fast. All she had to look forward to in life was more subserviance, but that was fine for her. She could only hope for more if it could succeed, but the rebellion, her last best hope for a better life, now only had death to reward her. Glondark moved forward to comfort her.  
  
"Tyria, please..." Glondark was cut short as Tyria opened fire. The bullet pierced his head, killing him instantly. Tyria was left in a state of shock, barely comprehending what she had done. In trying to understand it, she simply gave up, and ran away from his body, still clutching her chocolate bars. She would later be found dead with her chocolates stolen. 


End file.
